Labyrinth of Stones and Roses by Starsea

Where's the Exit?

Chapter One
Where’s the Exit?


For I will not be part of her cocktail generation:
The path is warped, devoid of all romance;
The music plays and everyone must dance,
I’m bowing out: I need a second chance...

Don McLean - Castles in the Air


A cold day, the wind tugging, as the last of the leaves were torn from branches and whirled away into the grey sky. A bitter day, as two young people stood in Hyde Park, facing each other.

The woman clenched her fists inside her coat pockets, biting her lip. Refusing to cry. No man had ever made her cry.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.”

“We’ve been together for so long…”

“Too long.”

“What do you want?!” she screamed at him, losing all self-control. “Just what do you want, Darien? Don’t I satisfy you? We’re the perfect couple, everyone says so-”

“That’s because they’re too scared of you to say anything else, Beryl.” His deep voice held just a hint of a smirk, though his face was completely blank.

Silence, deep and threatening. The wind rattled the tree branches like old bones. Darien’s fringe blew across his eyes, black strands obscuring Beryl’s fury. Her red hair was a blaze of colour in the bleak November day, too bright for winter. She almost crackled with anger. He knew she would have spat on him if she had been near enough.

“Darien…” A change of tactic: the voice softer now, appealing. “What’s wrong? What have I done? It can’t be that serious…”

He raised an eyebrow, and Beryl cursed him silently. Normally she could wrap men around her little finger, but Darien Shields was different. This time, she had been the hunter, making all the moves, something that was normally against her rules. But she hadn’t been able to stop herself: something about this man turned her on. He switched all the right buttons, and he knew it. He was the one who held the power, and that excited her. Now she saw the other side of
the coin: he could make her beg. He could make her suffer. Beryl was not good at begging. She was not good at losing. She knew that her smile was fake, her voice hollow. She needed more time…Time to come up with a better plan of attack…

“You want to know what’s wrong?”

She looked up, alert. A ray of hope through the couds. “Please.”

“I am sick, Beryl. Sick to death of you. Sick to death of your world, my world.” He glanced to his left, back at the City. “I’ve realised recently that I hate having to get up at six o’clock every single morning just so I can get some sort of exercise. I hate watching the Stock Market. I hate going out to all these cocktail parties and meeting people who think about nothing but their bank balances, other people’s bank balances, other people’s follies. I hate being hunted by all the single women over 25.” His eyes met hers. She blanched. “I hate everything about my life. Including you.”

She opened her mouth, but no words came. For once in her life, Beryl Malward was speechless with shock.

Darien shrugged. “You have’t done anything in particular. You just personify this world for me. You are a symbol of everything I hate.”

He let out a breath. It felt good to finally say these things. He very rarely said what was on his mind: his job involved tact and deception, he was inclined to be introverted. But he was sick of being silent.

Beryl’s mind was frozen. The words echoed like pebbles falling down a well: “You are a symbol of everything I hate.” Her chest hurt somewhere. She took a deep, thick breath.

“You bastard.”

The word hung between them, like a pair of scissors cutting the last bond. Darien didn’t even seem to notice the hatred in her eyes. He carried on talking.

“I’m taking extended leave. I’m going to a hotel in Suffolk. They need a gardener there. I was always good with plants.”

“Suffolk?!” She laughed, feeling as if she was choking. “You’ll feel buried alive! What’s in Suffolk?”

“Peace.”

With that, he turned and walked away. Despite the malicious wind and the glare directed at his back, Darien smiled. He felt good. For the first time in months, he felt the depression on his mind lift slightly.

Beryl stared at the tall proud back. The fury rose up in her throat like bile. “You need some help, Darien Shields! You need a psychiatrist! Nobody in their right mind would give up this for a life in Suffolk! You’ll see!”

Then she muttered under her breath, “You won’t get away with this. Nobody humiliates me.”

Darien paused, and turned around. “I’m not trying to humiliate you,” he said with a sigh. “You can say that you made the break if you wish. I don’t care.” He turned back and walked off, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

That, of course, was the whole problem. She had never been the focus of his life. Never once had she felt that she was his world. Beryl demanded complete and utter devotion. Darien had humiliated her, not by treating her badly, but by showing her that he had more important things to do. He could not have made a bigger mistake. Beryl’s eyes narrowed. She already had a plan.

* ~ *

Darien had started out from London at seven o’clock in the morning, confident that he could make it to Suffolk by lunchtime. By twelve o’clock, he was hopelessly lost in the backroads of the county, which were (naturally) without signposts. After passing the treestump for the fourth time, he stopped the car and banged his head on the steering wheel. ‘Come on, Shields! You could find your way around London the first time you went there, no problem!’ Then he remembered that London usually had signposts, and even if they weren’t around, someone would usually give you directions. He glanced around: nobody. Nothing.

Beryl’s taunt rang in his mind: “What’s in Suffolk?”

And he finally admitted: “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

A few birds twittered in the hedgerow. He pushed his hair off his forehead. He couldn’t turn back. But he couldn’t stay here forever either. He glanced at his mobile phone. The most sensible thing to do would be to call Andrew Crown, his old friend, who lived down here, but he’d boasted that he could find his way anywhere. Phoning Andrew would involve admitting defeat, something that Darien just didn’t do, ever. He sat back against the seat, listening to the CD.

“You look a little lost.”

He jumped, hit his head on the low ceiling, and swore.

A low chuckle did not improve Darien’s temper. “Listen-” he began belligerently, turning his head, but he stopped on the next word.

The face that was looking in his window was a woman’s. He blinked: he’d assumed that the owner of such a low voice had to be a man. “Uhh…”

The woman chuckled again. “Why don’t you get out of the car? Then we can talk.”

Dazed, Darien nodded and obeyed her. As he closed the door, he took the opportunity to glance her over. Tall, almost his height, dressed in a warm black woolen coat that reached her knees. From there, her legs were covered by long leather boots: a rider? When he looked up, he wasn’t so sure. Her hair was dark, extremely long and thick, down to her waist, and loose. It blew around her in strands that seemed almost green in the dull light. She had brown skin, natural, unlike the women he knew with their expensive sunroom tans. But her eyes were what unsettled him: they were a smoky colour that defied classification. Brown? Grey? Chestnut? Impossible to tell. She was beautiful, a hint of Latin in her face. What was she doing in the middle of the Suffolk countryside?

“You are lost, are you not?” she said. Her voice was low, beautiful, no accent of any kind. She was also incredibly amused at his predicament.

Darien stared at her. The song softly wove in between them.

And I came from nowhere like you and your friends
My searching and wand’ring went on without end
My future was dim, my spirit was crushed
In one sacred moment my questions were hushed…

“Yes,” Darien said honestly, “I am lost. Can you help me find my way?”

“That depends on where you want to get to,” said the woman, quoting the famous Cheshire cat.

“The Moonstar Inn? Crouch End?” He felt an idiot just saying the words.

“Oh yes. Of course.”

“What do you mean ‘of course’?”

“Everybody turns up there sooner or later,” the woman replied, with that mysterious smile. “I think it’s a combination of Lita’s cooking and Mina’s personality.”

“Really?” said Darien shortly. “Well I’d like to turn up there
sooner, please, and I’d like to know who you are.”

“You won’t learn anything if you keep that attitude.” The woman’s voice turned sharp, and Darien found himself shuddering and saying, “Sorry.”

“That’s better. The Moonstar Inn isn’t far. Just turn right at the next crossroads, then look for a dirt track. It’s hidden away, but that’s why it’s so popular.” She looked over his car. “Visiting from the city?”

“I’m the new gardener.” He found that he was saying it with pride.

She nodded. “And I’m Ophelia. Tell them I said hello.”

“I could give you a lift-”

“No. I have other things to do.” Her tone was final. He knew from experience that she wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Thank-you, I’ll give them your message.” He got back in and drove off with a certain sense of relief. She had intimidated him, and he didn’t know why. He was reminded of those old folktales where travellers meet spirits and devils on the roads. He laughed at his superstitious nerves: she’d been flesh and blood, hadn’t she? Darien glanced in the mirror, and braked abruptly.

The lane was empty. Completely, totally empty.

Darien opened the window and peered around, but there was no sign of Ophelia at all. He turned back, nonplussed. Strange. It was like she’d vanished off the face of the earth.

Telling himself there must be a reasonable explanation, Darien followed the directions, and found himself on the dirt track. It was overgrown, the tree branches overhead nearly meeting. He felt like he was entering a long tunnel to another world. He wondered what was on the other side. Maybe he would come out into spring or summer, not the winter he was leaving behind. The song had changed to one of optimism:

And if she asks you why
You can tell I told you
That I’m tired of castles in the air,
I’ve got a dream I want the world to share
And castle walls just lead me to despair…

He smiled, whistling to the tune. He was free. This was a new start, be positive. He was going back to his first love, gardening. He would be near Andrew. Things were looking good.

Then he found the tunnel’s exit. He went through it.

And found another world.


Disclaimer: I don’t own Sailor Moon. Naoko Takeuchi does. And how I envy her for that. The verses in this chapter are by Don McLean and come from Sister Fatima and Castles in the Air respectively. I don’t own them, either. :)

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